The Busie Body | Page 9

meet me at every
turn like some troubl'd Spirit, shall I be blam'd if I inquire into the
Reality? I would have nothing dissatisfy'd in a Female Shape.
_Miran._ What shall I do? (_Pause._
Sir _Geo._ Ay, prithee consider, for thou shalt find me very much at
thy Service.
_Patch._ Suppose, Sir, the Lady shou'd be in Love with you.
Sir _Geo._ Oh! I'll return the Obligation in a Moment.
_Patch._ And marry her?
Sir _Geo._ Ha, ha, ha, that's not the way to Love her Child.
_Miran._ If he discovers me, I shall die--Which way shall I
escape?--Let me see. (_Pauses._

Sir _Geo._ Well, Madam--
_Miran._ I have it--Sir George, 'tis fit you should allow something; if
you'll excuse my Face, and turn your Back (if you look upon me I shall
sink, even mask'd as I am) I will confess why I have engag'd you so
often, who I am, and where I live?
Sir _Geo._ Well, to show you I'm a Man of Honour I accept the
Conditions. Let me but once know those, and the Face won't be long a
Secret to me. (_Aside._
_Patch._ What mean you, Madam?
_Miran._ To get off.
Sir _Geo._ 'Tis something indecent to turn ones Back upon a Lady; but
you command and I obey. (_Turns his Back._) Come, Madam, begin--
_Miran._ First then it was my unhappy Lot to see you at Paris (_Draws
back a little while and speaks_) at a Ball upon a Birth-Day; your Shape
and Air charm'd my Eyes; your Wit and Complaisance my Soul, and
from that fatal Night I lov'd you. (_Drawing back._) And when you left
the Place, Grief seiz'd me so--No Rest my Heart, no Sleep my Eyes
cou'd know.--
_Last I resolv'd a hazardous Point to try,_ _And quit the Place in search
of Liberty._ (Exit.
Sir _Geo._ Excellent--I hope she's Handsome--Well, Now, Madam, to
the other two Things: Your Name, and where you live?--I am a
Gentleman, and this Confession will not be lost upon me.--Nay, prithee
don't weep, but go on--for I find my Heart melts in thy Behalf--speak
quickly or I shall turn about--Not yet.--Poor Lady, she expects I shou'd
comfort her; and to do her Justice, she has said enough to encourage me.
(_Turns about._) Ha? gone! The Devil, jilted? Why, what a Tale has
she invented--of Paris, Balls, and Birth-Days.--Egad I'd give Ten
Guineas to know who this Gipsie is.--A Curse of my Folly--I deserve to
lose her; what Woman can forgive a Man that turns his Back.

_The Bold and Resolute, in Love and War, To Conquer take the Right,
and swiftest way; The boldest Lover soonest gains the Fair, As Courage
makes the rudest Force obey, Take no denial, and the Dames adore ye,
Closely pursue them and they fall before ye._
The End of the First ACT.

ACT the Second.
_Enter Sir Francis Gripe, Miranda._
Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
_Miran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha; Oh, I shall die with Laughing.--The
most Romantick Adventure: Ha, ha! what does the odious young Fop
mean? A Hundred Pieces to talk an Hour with me; Ho, ha.
Sir _Fran._ And I'm to be by too; there's the Jest; Adod, if it had been
in Private, I shou'd not have car'd to trust the young Dog.
_Mirand._ Indeed and Indeed, but you might Gardy.--Now methinks
there's no Body Handsomer than you; So Neat, so Clean, so
Good-Humour'd, and so Loving.--
Sir _Fran._ Pritty Rogue, Pritty Rogue, and so thou shalt find me, if
thou do'st prefer thy Gardy before these Caperers of the Age, thou shalt
out-shine the Queen's Box on an Opera Night; thou shalt be the Envy
of the Ring (for I will Carry thee to _Hide-Park_) and thy Equipage
shall Surpass, the what--d'ye call 'em Ambassadors.
_Miran._ Nay, I'm sure the Discreet Part of my Sex will Envy me more
for the Inside Furniture, when you are in it, than my Outside Equipage.
Sir _Fran._ A Cunning Bagage, a faith thou art, and a wise one too; and
to show thee thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment Disinherit my
Son, and Settle my whole Estate upon thee.

_Miran._ There's an old Rogue now: (_Aside._) No, Gardy, I would
not have your Name be so Black in the World--You know my Father's
Will runs, that I am not to possess my Estate, without your Consent, till
I'm Five and Twenty; you shall only abate the odd Seven Years, and
make me Mistress of my Estate to Day, and I'll make you Master of my
Person to Morrow.
Sir _Fran._ Humph? that may not be safe--No Chargy, I'll Settle it upon
thee for _Pin-mony_; and that will be every bit as well, thou know'st.
_Miran._ Unconscionable old Wretch,